


Boy with a broken soul

by holograms



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, there was Sean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy with a broken soul

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt on tumblr. i once said i would never write for these two, but here i am.
> 
> please imagine [Anthony Ramos](http://acanofpeaches.tumblr.com/post/140355047744/hey-ramos-actor-anthony-ramos-poses-for-a) as Sean Casey

“You’re my Charlie Parker,” Fletcher says, unbidden. He's been thinking of it for a while, the thought growing like a plant cultivated — Sean is exceeding his expectations, in every way. Not that he’d ever tell Sean that, so that’s why he bites down when the confession of his affixation of his symbol to Sean slips.

He hopes Sean didn’t hear him, or was so taken aback that he was confused hearing it from Fletcher, but so such luck — Sean sets down his instrument and then smiles at Fletcher with that wide white grin that Fletcher hates because it’s like Sean’s daring for him to smile, too.

(Fletcher does smile back, but only sometimes. This time he does not.)

Sean scoffs. “That’s a bit much,” Sean says. “Flattery isn’t your style. Unless you’re meaning to be an asshole then, well, that’s nothing new.”

This the is the moment — Fletcher could let it go and say _you’re right, you’re finally learning you’ll never have what it takes_ but he doesn’t. He doesn’t and even though later he regrets it (never tell anyone they could be great, it gives them expectations and if they don’t meet those expectations then they lose themselves), but at the moment, it’s worth it.

“No, I mean it,” Fletcher says. “You could be Great,” and it’s there, _Great,_ capital G. “My Charlie Parker,” he says, and he doesn’t have to remind Sean what that means to him. It’s the closest to love that he can give.

And it feels dangerous.

Sean’s smile turns bashful, and dips his head down as he tucks a dark curly strand of his messy hair behind his ear. When he looks back up at Fletcher, there’s a light flush across his face which makes his freckles pop out across his warm glowing skin more than usual.

“If you say so, old man,” Sean says, and he reaches out and pulls Fletcher into a kiss and Fletcher learns that Sean’s lips are perfect for more than playing brass.

 

 

 

 

(Sean graduates three years later. Sean succeeds, plays at Lincoln, thinks that’s enough — Fletcher disagrees.

“You aren’t a Charlie Parker, after all,” Fletcher tells him, “if you were, nothing could ever be enough.”

“Exactly,” Sean says. “I can’t do that anymore.” He hands Fletcher a CD, says, “to remember me by.”

“You were never any good. Waste of my fucking time,” Fletcher says, and Sean’s hurt puppy dog expression is worth it. He tosses the disc on his desk, points to the door, says, “I’m finished with you.”

Sean walks out, out of his life, and never comes back.

When he’s gone, Fletcher glares at the CD. He puts it away, and doesn’t play it. He doesn’t play it until a few years later, not until—)


End file.
